


Let's go in the Garden, You'll Find Something Waiting

by PositivePumpkin



Series: Reversed!Omens AU [4]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: First chapter is just a building description, Gardens & Gardening, How Do I Tag, I Don't Even Know, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Reversed Omens AU, Role Reversal, Threats of Violence, Why Did I Write This?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2020-07-20 00:54:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19983370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PositivePumpkin/pseuds/PositivePumpkin
Summary: The garden nursery called Eden is a lovely and somewhat mythical place. Here's a 1.3k description of the shop and the flat above it.Chapter 2 summary: Gangsters try to shake down Anthony, and it doesn't go well for them.This is for Reversed!Omens Au by speremint.





	1. Building Description

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, look. I don't know why I wrote this, but I did. The first chapter is straight up just a building description. Every subsequent chapter is going to be a scene set in the shop. I have literally no idea when I'll update. Depends on if/when I get any ideas.  
> This au is created by [Speremint](https://speremint.tumblr.com/tagged/reversed-omens).

For those of you who have never been, Eden is a lovely little nursery nestled along a row of shops in Soho. The shopfront is covered in moss and flowering vines, yet the buildings adjacent don’t have a spot of greenery. The cream bricks stand out underneath the verdant life growing crawling its way up. There is only one window, cherry wood panelling with a planter filled with flowers that seem to be in bloom no matter the season. The door is the same cherry wood as the window, with brass handle and mail slot. A square window in the door holds the shop’s open/closed sign, although usually when the shop is open, so is the door.

Inside the first thing that catches your eye is the large apple tree in the centre of the room. It’s not in any sort of planter but is actually growing out of the ground; a circle of grass and a miniature white picket fence surrounding it. It has the shiniest, brightest red apples all year round. If you’re lucky the owner might let you take one to eat, but it’s best you don’t. Once you’ve taken a bite all other apples are ruined for you. They’re firm, but juicy. Sweet, but just enough tart. And they taste more like the memory of an apple, of fall, of cider, and every sweet childhood moment associated than of any earthly fruit. The whole shop smells, not of dozen different flower smells, but of apples.

The second thing you notice is that the shop is well lit in a warm light, despite there only being one light in the ceiling. The atmosphere is warm and slightly humid, noticeable even when the door is left open, no warmth seems to escape. There is a modern alarm system by the door that chimes when the door is opened. The chime used to be just a generic bell sound, but at some point, it changed to an angelic choir sound effect. You believe the owner’s partner changed it as bit of a prank, but the owner never changed it back, so you’re not completely sure it’s not intentional.

The floor is a patterned tile: white with little ivy designs crawling down to the next, connecting seamlessly all throughout the floor. Another strange thing, about the shop: the floors are always clean, which you might not think odd, except there’s never any leaves or petals on the ground. The wallpaper is miraculously free of stains, no mould or mildew. It’s a lovely pale pink (not unlike a carnation) with little painted flowers dotting the walls in no discernible pattern. That doesn’t mean there is no pattern, just not one as far as you can tell.

There are tables, made of a slightly lighter cherry wood than the door and window, lining the walls. Each table is filled with the most luscious, vibrant plants you’ve ever seen. The leaves never have spots, the stalks never droop, nor do petals shrivel. Plants that need more shade are stored under the tables, but no less loved for it. Hanging pots are scattered throughout with lively trailing leaves. Despite this, you’ve never managed to accidently walk through the tickling foliage.

There is only one counter. It has a pale wood countertop with a single potted plant (a hydrangea, practically glowing with how well-loved it is)—a place of honour. There’s no cash register, which you think there should be, but you’ve also heard tell of the owner trading his plants for items and even giving them away to special people. These might just be rumours, you’ve never actually seen it happen, after all. The counter has white backing, and if you were to look behind it, you’d seen no cabinet doors, but rather shelving. Contained on these shelves are plant misters, bags of fertilizer, empty pots, and for some reason a black mug with angel, or perhaps demon, wings as the handle. Behind the counter is also a birch stool with a frilly pillow, white with lavender embroidery, resting on it. You think it might just be there for decoration, you’ve certainly never seen the owner sitting on it before.

The back wall has small saplings lined up in a neat little row, with space made for a doorway, which led to an adorable kitchenette, a staircase leading to the flat above, and a door. The door is a bit of a mystery, you’re pretty sure there’s a shop on the other side of this one, yet there’s a door that feels like it’d lead outside. You wouldn’t know this, but it does in fact lead impossibly outside. A relatively small garden with a greenhouse, where the owner keeps his rarer and more delicate plants, is nestled in this mythical hideaway. There’s also a clay and brick oven well away from the plants, set in the corner against the building.

The kitchenette is quaint. There’s a small white refrigerator, a sink, more wood countertops, white floor cabinets, and a shelf made of a dark wood. The shelf is filled with delicate china dishes. The only thing unusual about these is how nice they are, you think they may have been passed down in the family for generations (this of course, isn’t true, they’ve only ever had one owner.) Some tea leaves are drying out, on a sheet, on the counter, you take this to mean he makes his own blends. There are also cute little ceramic containers on the counter that hold things such as sugar, biscuits, and tea. You know this because the containers have lovely calligraphy labelling them.

Upstairs the flat appears to be larger than the building would suggest. The bathroom is huge with most of it taken up by the bath. It is built into the wall and easily large enough for three or possibly four people to share. It is very luxurious, it has jets, a removable showerhead, and an incline on one side. A shelf is built into the wall just in reach of the tub, it contains several different sizes of brushes, shampoos and conditioners, and a glass jar filled with colourful bath bombs. A towel rack stands over the toilet, filled with the largest fluffiest towels. The sink is cluttered with various make up supplies, hair products, and different shades of nail polish (mostly pastels and different shades of pink, but there is also one single bottle of black.)

The living area has an enormous flat screen tv, but strangely no speakers to go with its sound system—yet sound could still play, because Anthony expected it to. A huge desk stood against a wall, facing a window that shouldn’t be there. There is a large, well-loved armchair with tall back at the desk. On the desk is a silver box with engraved designs resembling stylized feathers. Inside the box is a sleek black feather with silver pen tip. A modern computer tower sits under the desk, and dual monitors, keyboard, and mouse atop it. There’s a pale pink settee in front of the tv, one just long enough for the owner to drape himself over. On the floor in the centre of the room (behind the settee) is a large circular rug hiding a magic circle used to contact Heaven. The large bird statue from the church that had a bomb dropped on it in 1941 is also on display.

In the bedroom is a Caesar king sized bed, perfectly made up with a large, hand-made quilt draping over it. It’s also covered in far too many pillows. A bedside table holds a table lamp, a commendation medal from heaven, and a book on astronomy. In the table’s drawer there is an inordinate number of sunglasses. The original Mona Lisa sketch (signed by Leonardo of course) is framed and set on one wall. A statue of an angel and demon ‘wrestling’ sits on a pedestal, it appears the demon is ‘winning.’ A sliding door leads into a closet that has hundreds of different outfits. Some of the outfits have been preserved and stored for thousands of years. And that, my dear, ends our tour of Eden and the flat above it.


	2. Gangsters in the Garden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a group of thugs try to threaten Anthony and it doesn't end well for them.

The shop door was closed for once, the cause being the blustery weather outside, but the sign was still set to open. Anthony was puttering about, misting his plants and talking to them softly, “Come now, love, you can do better than that.” He moved to another plant and made a disapproving tut, “oh no, you’re not disappointing me—you’re disappointing yourself.” Another plant, a sigh, “I suppose if that’s _really_ the best you can do-no, no, don’t put yourself out on _my_ account.”

At the sound of angelic choir from the door, a small private smile, and Anthony turned, expecting to see a familiar demon, but was instead greeted by three men. The men were wearing cheap, ill-fitting suits that were just plain ugly. One of the men had a lit cigarette in his mouth. The men were looking around at the plants, snickering amongst themselves.

“No smoking in the shop, gents.” Anthony said, straightening up. When the man put his cigarette out, on the leaf of a fern nearby and tossing the butt in the pot, the angel’s frown went from displeased to vicious. He snarled, the tone harshly contrasting the words spoken, “can I help you?”

“You’ve got a lovely shop, ‘ere. Be a real shame if somethin’ ‘appened to it.” The tallest man drawled, stalking forward in a manner the man must have thought intimidating. Anthony of course, wasn’t. The two goons behind him were meandering around, one of them picked a flower off a plant and twirled it in his fingers and the other picked an apple from the tree. “We can give ya some insurance, if’n you want ter keep this ‘ere shop runnin’ that is.” The tall one reached out for the hydrangeas on the counter but was stopped before he could touch them by Anthony’s firm hand.

“That won’t be necessary,” Anthony hissed, baring his teeth. He looked down his nose at the one that took the apple, “Wouldn’t eat that if I were you. You’ll not find it to your taste.” He dug his fingers into the wrist he was holding and threw it back at the man. “Now, if you’ll please,” he gestured to the door.

“Now, now, yer goin’ ter regret that. Best ter jus’ pay us.” The man leaned into Anthony’s space, again probably going for intimidating. Michael, Sandalphon, and occasionally Uriel were intimidating. Not so much this human. The stranger placed a flat hand on Anthony’s chest. It was tempting (and wouldn’t the demon laugh at that?) to wait it out until Azirafell arrived for their lunch date, but it was probably best he take care of them now. Azirafell could be quite cruel in the name of Anthony’s defence, and he didn’t need the protection. At least, not this time.

“No, no, I don’t think I’ll regret a thing,” Anthony said, a deep almost lazy drawl. He pushed the hand off his chest and unbuttoned his shirt sleeves rolling them up to his elbows. He took off his sunglasses and his eyes glowed dangerously, the gold bleeding out until his eyes were completely molten. Soon the shop was awash in bright light and the smell of ozone. Anyone outside the shop at the time might’ve seen the bright light and heard a ringing sound that steadily increased in volume.

He put his sunglasses back on and blinked his eyes back to normal as the light dissipated. The goons were gone, the flower that had been plucked was behind Anthony’s ear, and the apple in his hand. He set the apple on the counter and sauntered over to the plant that had been burnt by the cigarette. He stroked the leaf until it was no longer burnt, and the cigarette butt had been disappeared. He then moved to the flowering plant that had been plucked from and blew, a new flower growing and blooming under his breath.

The angelic choir sounded and just like that, his mood improved, and he found that private smile coming back. He didn’t turn until he heard Azirafell’s disgruntled voice, “What happened here, dear boy? Whole place reeks of holiness and,” a sniff, “cigarette? I didn’t think you smoked.”

“I don’t,” Anthony turned now, smiling fondly at the demon, “I just had to get some rather unpleasant people out of shop.” He walked over to the counter, a skip in his step. He licked his lips, trying to keep the smile off his face. He picked up the apple and eyed the demon, offering, “apple?”

“What have you done?” A giddy smile appeared as he bounced over to Anthony, taking said apple. Joy at the angel’s deviousness filled Azirafell’s expression. He rested a hand on the counter and leaned against it.

“Oh, nothing they didn’t deserve,” A derisive sniff, “they hurt my plants.” He pouted and ran a loving finger over some of the hydrangea’s vibrant pink petals, and it preened under the affection. He wondered idly if Azirafell knew the meaning behind those flowers. _Heartfelt emotion_ associated with _romance, love_.

“Good,” Azirafell’s eyes fell on the hydrangea, the plant he got for the angel when his shop opened. Still flourishing, bright and happy. A wave of possessive rage washed over him. _If anyone hurt that plant, **his** gift to Anthony, then no punishment was enough_. He squinted, practically glaring at the plant, trying to glean whether or not it had been affected. After deciding it was fine, he looked back to see Anthony smiling down at him. “You’re quite devious, my dear, when you want to be.”

Anthony snorted, “I’m an angel, it’s not deviousness, it’s divine.” And wasn’t that a load of bollocks. The angel knew it too, by the shit-eating grin he had on. “Come, let’s get lunch. Anywhere you want to go.” He offered his arm, and the demon found himself taking it.

“Alright, if you insist,” Azirafell said, needing absolutely no further tempting. “There’s this Greek place I’ve had my eye on—the things they do with spices! And they have the most delicious portokalopita, I think you’d quite like it, my dear boy.” With that, the two left the shop and with a snap of fingers the door was locked, and the sign set to closed. Azirafell ate his apple on the way, talking animatedly between bites. And Anthony revelled in the discussion, letting the conversation wash over him like a balm until he was serene.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is all I've got so far for this series, hit me up in the comments or on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/positivepumpkin) if you have any ideas to scream at me. Can't promise I'll write them, but I'll at least read/consider them.


End file.
